


Picture Perfect

by captainfuckingflint (theflowercrownedking)



Series: The Reasons Why Capt. Flint is Muttering... [7]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, New Year's Eve, Office Party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 22:05:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13257552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theflowercrownedking/pseuds/captainfuckingflint
Summary: In which Thomas is late to a New Years party, and James is drunk and missing him. Also, Charles Vane is a shit.





	Picture Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> this is bean's fault
> 
> happy 2018

James McGraw is muttering tonight because his husband is notably absent from the new years party he’s currently attending. He’d known that Thomas would be arriving late, he’d had his own office party to make an appearance at, but he was supposed to be leaving early and joining James at ten. And yet James stands alone, glancing at his watch and seeing the hands tick ever closer to half past.

 

“You look a little nervous there, McGraw.” Or at least, he wishes he was alone. Charles Vane stands before him, and James is ever grateful that Gates had been steadily supplying him with beers ever since he’d shown up.

 

“Fuck off Vane,” he says, and he moves to go but he’s stopped by an arm round his shoulder steering him back.

 

Eleanor Guthrie has appeared at his side, and she passes him a suspiciously red coloured drink. “Oh leave him alone Charles, you know he’s just missing his darling Thomas!” Vane and Eleanor both laugh at him then, and James can do nothing but grumble and shrug Eleanor off of him because, well, she isn’t wrong.

 

He appraises the drink she’s passed him and discreetly sniffs it; it smells sweet, fruity, and deceivingly non-alcoholic. Exactly what he needs to get through a conversation with Vane. He downs a large gulp before turning back to the Vane and Eleanor. “He’s on his way, just running a little late.”

 

“Oh yeah, sure he is.” Vane smirks and nudges Eleanor’s shoulder. “Have you ever seen this mystery husband?”

 

_ Fuck _ , James thinks,  _ here we go again _ . “For the last time Vane, the photo of my desk isn’t of some random model.”

Eleanor between the two of them, bemused and clearly expecting an explanation. James huffs and crosses his arms as well as he can whilst holding a drink in one hand; let Vane be the one to explain his idiocy. He doesn’t want to entertain this conversation any further.

 

Vane grins, clearly excited to both mock James and talk to Eleanor all at once, two of his favourite activities. “He’s got a photo of this guy on his desk, that he says is his husband. Jack and I reckon it’s fake.”

 

It’s when Jack (tailed silently by Anne, of course) comes over to join the conversation, presumably after hearing his name mentioned, that James downs the rest of his drink, and switches his now-empty glass for Eleanor’s full one. Judging from the redness of her cheeks, and the slight sway in how she’s holding herself, he needs it more than she does. He gazes round at the group as Jack begins a tirade on something or the other, probably at his expense, and locks eyes with Anne, who tilts her beer at him in commiseration. He tips his cocktail at her in return before downing another large gulp. Why did he bother coming to this party again?

 

Last year, he had stayed in with Thomas, and it had been just the two of them intertwined together in bed as the clock struck midnight. They had left their curtains open and the lights off, so that the fireworks had lit each other’s bodies with showers of light, and they’d brought in the new year with a stronger connection than a kiss.

 

Fuck, he misses Thomas. It’s nearing twenty to eleven now - where was he? In front of him, Jack is still waxing lyrical about the theory he and Charles had formulated. He tunes in to hear Jack end with “- and seeing as he won’t show us any photos of him  _ with _ Thomas, or any other photos of Thomas apart from that one in the frame, it’s obviously fake!”

 

Eleanor turns to him. “Well you have other photos, right?”

 

_ Oh for God’s sake!  _ James is refusing to show them more photos of Thomas out of principle! “Of course I do! But, I’m not sharing them because I don’t want to encourage any of you nosy fuckers.”

 

“Come on McGraw, we always share our stories with you,” Vane jeers, and James sighs.

 

“Yeah, that’s exactly the point.” It’s not like James hasn’t been giving off the strongest anti-social vibes since joining the company. He has nothing against these people (okay, not  _ That Much _ against these people), but he really doesn’t want to know anything about their personal lives, or have them know anything about his in return. “The less you know about my personal life, the better!”

 

He remembers why he’s at this party now. Thomas had made him, because he’d said James was too antisocial with his work colleagues; if Thomas were here like he said he’d be, however, he’d see why that was. 

 

“See I think you’ve avoided letting us see him because then,” Vane jabs a finger at him, as if Jack’s need for dramatic flair has drunkenly rubbed off on him, “we’ll all see he isn’t the guy in the photo.”

 

James is simultaneously too drunk and not drunk enough for this conversation.  “For the last time, Vane, he is!”

 

He gestures his arm out to emphasise this, because apparently the dramatic flair has rubbed off on him too, only to be caught and steadied from behind by a hand on each shoulder. A kiss is pressed to the top of his head before he hears a deep voice behind him rumble out a “Whose what?” 

 

James catches a glimpse of Vane’s dumbfounded expression before he spins around to see his husband smiling down at him. “Thomas!”

 

“Sorry I’m late, Love,” Thomas says before pressing a quick kiss to his lips in apology. “Finding a taxi was a nightmare.”

 

“It’s been hell without you,” James murmurs, sneaking a glance at Vane from the corner of his eye; he is predictably laughing with Jack and - did he just see money change hands? He turns back round to the group, Thomas’ arm remaining round his waist of course, and confronts Vane and Rackham. “Were you two fucking betting on me?”

 

Vane’s shit eating grin only gets bigger. “Jack here figured you’d never show us your beloved Thomas no matter what we said.”

 

Now it’s James’ turn to be dumbfounded. “Are you telling me that’s why you accused me of printing off a photo of some random model?”

 

“Mighta been,” James is glad Thomas is finally here, to distract him from how angry that fact might normally have made him. “Of course, you never showed us a picture of him, but well, here he is.”

 

To his side Thomas looks bemused, and James begrudgingly introduces him to the apparent jackasses he calls coworkers. Thomas however takes it in his stride, and tells Vane how “charmed”  he is that Charles considers him that attractive. As Eleanor laughs at Vane’s resulting blush and attempt at backtracking, James whisks Thomas away to find him something to drink.

 

He tracks down Gates, and trades the rest of Eleanor’s mystery cocktail off for a beer each for Thomas and himself. As Gates busies himself discussing the merits of various football players with Billy, James finds a quiet spot to catch up with Thomas.

 

Questions of how their respective nights have been so far quickly devolve into them trading kisses as James’ drunken one track mind wants to make up for lost time. Judging from the placement of Thomas’ hands, he’s fully on board, and once James has calmed and deemed Thomas appropriately well-kissed, they stay in close proximity to one another, murmuring lowly about nothing of import.

 

James is teasing Thomas about his candidates for his next New Years Resolution when they are interrupted by Vane calling them over; yelling “Come on, lovebirds, it’s almost midnight! Time to join the party!”

 

They join everybody out on the balcony; Jack’s had kindly offered to host this year solely because his new apartment had the perfect view of the fireworks, and of course he wanted to brag. They swap out their now empty beer bottles for glasses of champagne, and wait patiently as Jack makes a needlessly long toast to bring in the new year. Anne kicks him when it gets to 11:59, and he wraps it up succinctly, letting everyone enjoy a round of ‘cheers’ and start the countdown.

 

As it gets to the final ten seconds, James turns to Thomas, placing his hands around his waist as Thomas’ own naturally come up to cradle his face. As Thomas tucks a stray strand of hair behind James’ ear, James can’t hold back his grin. 

 

As the rest of the party chants around them, James leans in closer to the embrace. “I love you so much.”

 

Their lips are practically brushing already as Thomas murmurs back an “I love you too”, and their lips meet to the chorus of cheers all around them as the clock strikes midnight. It is a slow and easy kiss, starting soft but growing in intensity as they both instil all their love for the other into the connection. James almost allows himself to get lost in it, it is only the noise of the party around him that prevents him from forgetting anything other than Thomas.

 

Slowly and ever so gently, they break apart, and James can see vibrant flashes going off out of the corner of his eye, but his gaze is still drawn to Thomas. It’s like the first moments of the year have been slowed down to a crawl. Thomas has a light blush on his cheeks (from the champagne or the kiss James can’t be sure), the fireworks lighting his face amplify the twinkle in his eye, and the most joyous smile has graced his lips. He is beautiful, radiant, and James is so, so grateful to be married to him. 

 

“To another year,” he says, but before Thomas can reply, time abruptly speeds up as Gates comes between them, an arm round each of their shoulders, shouting  _ “Happy New Year, boys!” _ and blowing a party popper into their faces.

 

After that, James is corralled into enjoying the party and actually interacting with the people he reluctantly calls his friends, and the rest of the night turns into a blur of champagne and drunken singing.

 

“ _ Oh god. _ ” James’ first thought upon waking is that he wants to go back to sleep. He tries to burrow back into the duvet, but he feels it shift around him and swears as rays of light assail his vision. He glares out from the safety of his cocoon as his husband looks down at him, amused at his suffering.

 

“Oh great, you’re awake!” James is partially mollified when Thomas presses a soft kiss to his brow, but he mumbles ‘No I’m not’ either way. Thomas asks how he’s feeling, as if he can’t already tell that James is currently suffering a fate worse than death, and then laughs when James tells him to ‘get fucked’. 

 

“I’d love to darling, but you appear a little too queasy at the moment.” Before James can grumble, however, Thomas gestures towards the bedside table and says “Painkillers, water, and anti-nausea tablets, all for you! We have some orange juice in the fridge too, for when you’re feeling more human.”

 

James emerges slightly more from his cocoon to see that yes, Thomas has indeed gotten all those things for him. It is both a curse and a blessing to be married to a man that ‘doesn’t get hungover’, because while it’s painful to see someone doing just fine when he’s blatantly in agony, it does mean he has someone to take care of him. “Thank you,” he says, pressing a quick kiss to Thomas’ cheek before shuffling over to the table and downing half the water in one.

 

It’s a decision he instantly regrets, and Thomas laughs at him as he gets out of bed and pulls on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. “I’m gonna make a fry-up for myself,” he says, and James’ stomach lurches at the mere thought, but Thomas knows him too well; “Plain porridge for yourself?”

 

James nods and manages a thank you before he moves on to taking the pills Thomas had set out for him. 

 

As Thomas leaves the room, however, he calls behind him, “I think you got a few texts,” and James groans; he was putting off trying to remember what exactly he’d gotten up to last night.

 

Unlocking his phone (apparently one of them had the sense to put it on charge last night; James’ bets were on Thomas), he sees five messages from Eleanor.

 

The first text, from about three am last night, asks ‘ _ where r u and tom??!! _ ’, followed by a ‘ _ How’s the hangover, old man? _ ’ from much earlier (or later, depending on how you saw it) this morning. About an hour after that is a text saying  _ ‘That bad, huh?’.   _ Next is an image file he has to download, followed by a final  _ ‘PS. -  Rackham took this last night, says you should print it off to replace (or add to!) the one in your office, so that you have one of you and Thomas together.’ _

 

James is apprehensive as he downloads the image, slightly fearful of what his drunk self got up to last night (he has a vague memory of beer pong, though he has no idea if he won, lost, or even participated), and more importantly what Rackham apparently documented his drunk self doing last night.

 

As he opens the image, however, he forgets all his worries, his headache even stops burning for a moment, because somehow, Rackham managed to get a photo of his and Thomas’ New Years Kiss. Their passion remains in the forefront of the image, perfectly centre, but the polychromatic explosions of the fireworks behind them only intensify the moment Rackham has managed to capture. James is struck by how beautiful they seem together; how perfect they fit.

 

He stumbles his way out of bed into the kitchen, barely stopping to tug on a pair of sleep pants, and interrupts Thomas’ breakfast making by wrapping his arms around his waist and burying his face into the crook of Thomas’ neck, mumbling an ‘I love you’ into the soft cotton of his t-shirt.

 

Thomas spins in his arms, pressing a kiss to his forehead and letting his own arms settle around James’ shoulders. “I love you too,” he says, before pulling back and poking James’ exposed belly, “now go and shower, you ridiculous man, before I burn our breakfast.”

 

James grumbles as he walks off towards the bathroom, but there’s a smile on his face. This is looking out to be a good year, even  _ with _ the hangover currently wracking his body, and his hazy memory of last night. Sneaking a peek over his shoulder, he sees Thomas humming a tune as he cracks two eggs into a pan, and decides  _ no, not a bad start to the year at all. _


End file.
